Wackadoo Stew

The Zombie Poet (a parody)

2013-01-30T10:22:00.000-05:00

(read out loud to the melody of Adele’s Someone Like You)

They said that it was
“Just a scratch”
I thought,
“Just a scratch”
Doesn’t sound too bad.
But then...

but then...

2 weeks later

The stench surrounds me
like a fuzzy slanket, the stench
of death...
of blood...
of feces.
A sliver of my former human self.

Shambling to a beat
playing only in my head.
Shuffle, shuffle, drag, drag
shuffle, shuffle, drag, drag
Damn. There goes my my forearm.

Tap-dancing with excitement

2012-12-18T14:34:00.002-05:00

On December 21, I will be arrivaderci-ing the usual Holiday shenanigans and traveling to Scotland with my dear friends, Kellie and Jens. (Brad Pitt is staying put at home.)

That's right, it's gonna be a kilty Xmas and a tartan New Year. Who cares if we're going at the worst possible time, weather-wise? We'll stay warm by drowning ourselves in Scotch-laced hot toddies. And haggis meat pies.

You all know I like lists, right?

Things I must do whilst in Scotland:

Prance around the Highlands like I've been cast in a (Scottish) reboot of the Sound of Music
Get stuck in a sheep crossing
Pay homage to Monty Python & the Holy Grail by storming the walls of Castle Doune.
Sleep in an honest to goodness castle. (Arranged! 2 nights in Dalhousie Castle.)
Isle of Skye!
Stalk Ewan McGregor
Visit at least 1 of the whisky distilleries on this list
Find a pub that will televise the Dec 23 and Dec 30 Patriots' games
Let my movie freak flag fly - Harry Potter film locations
Learn how to say "Yankee, go home" in Scottish gaelic

I'm sure there's more but those are the most important.

Currently Viewing: A 2-fer - Cowboys and Aliens + Strictly Ballroom

2012-07-27T10:17:00.000-04:00

Cowboys and Aliens

I popped in the Blu-Ray and watched 2 hours of my life go down the proverbial drain, never to be retrieved. What producer genius green-lit this monstrosity? Look, I'm all for genre mash-ups, but this script was ill-conceived and fell super-flat in its execution.

Netflix: Cowboys & Aliens

Normally, I have no problem with suspending my disbelief when watching movies - obviously, seeing I just rented a movie about cowboys AND aliens - but don't expect me to suspend my logic in addition to my disbelief - that's lazy script writing and insulting to the audience. Everyone involved with this train wreck seemed to be on autopilot - the performances were drab and lifeless, the cinematography uninspiring, the soundtrack weak sauce. It's as if the cast already knew going in that this film was a lame duck. Even Daniel Craig's toned buttocks in leather chaps didn't distract me enough from this crapfest.

Strictly Ballroom

I recently revisited my love for this movie. It’s the first installment (and directorial debut) of Baz Lurhmann’s “Red Curtain” trilogy of theatre motif-related films – the 2nd and 3rd being “William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet” and “Moulin Rouge” respectively.

Netflix: Strictly Ballroom

It's as light as cotton candy and just as sweet, with a heavy dash of quirky Australians, whipped to a campy froth. It's intentionally absurd but sincere at the same time, its romantic beating heart worn visibly and with pride on the sleeves of the bespangled Dayglo costumes. If you're not on your feet and stomping the Paso Doble at the final dance number, then you, my friend, have a heart blacker than Voldemort's. (Ps. the soundtrack is killer.)

Currently Watching: The Descendants

2012-07-26T13:43:00.000-04:00

A big misfire for Alexander Payne, who directed "Sideways", a personal fave.

Devoid of the charm and snarky comedy that I loved about Sideways, The Descendants was a major snooze. Every plot point was telegraphed, the tone was schizophrenic - it couldn't decide if it was a family drama or trag-omedy (tragedy + comedy) - resulting in a deeply emotionally bereft and unsatisfying viewing experience. The red flag was the 20-minute voice-over in the beginning, telling the audience the entire back-story of the relationship between husband and wife. When Clooney's sonorous V.O. kicked in... and kept going... and going... (checks watch)... and still going... I knew, I just knew this was going to try my patience. Alex - show, don't tell! How was this nominated for Best Oscar?! Ugh, two big fat thumbs down.

Netflix: The Descendants

30 Shades of Nonsense: Random Notes, Thoughts and Guacamole

2012-07-15T16:21:00.001-04:00

Haven’t written anything in a month. Creatively constipated. Need an enema.
Beginning July 16, I will be embarking on The Quest.
Louis C.K. is currently the funniest thing on the tube.
Email from the husband --

Husband: Mmmmm, I’m gonna Higgs your bosun.

Me: Is that code for something?

Husband: Mmmmm, I’m gonna code your something.

(note: Higgs bosun is a sub-atomic particle, also referred to as the God particle.)

Trader Joe’s has grass fed, New Zealand ground beef on sale for $5.99. Do you know how much of an awesome price that is for grass fed anything?
Best thing about summer: overabundance of avocados. Why? GUACAMOLE, that’s why!
The husband is suffering from a severe case of wanderlust and proposed taking a month off to traipse around Europe. I heartily agreed.
Afternoon light (around 5 or 6pm) creates the most beautiful long shadows.
Most listened to this week: Townes van Zandt, Them Crooked Vultures, O Mio Babbino Caro
Songs guaranteed to make me choke up every time: Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses” and Tom Waits’ “San Diego Serenade”.
I don’t get 50 Shades of Grey. I read the first 15 pages on Amazon and... let’s just say, I would also use a pseudonym.
I love Amazon.com.
Hollywood needs more women directors like Kathryn Bigelow.
My love of movies exceeds the heat generated in a large hadron collider (allegedly 10 million billion degrees Celsius).
Currently reading a really crappy script by a fellow writer; vacillating between giving brutally honest feedback or merely adding to his delusion. (And I’m not being snooty; this script is truly awful.)
Hey, overly endowed girl. Just because it’s hot out is not a justification to expose your chichis. Leave something to the imagination, for the love of everything decent in this world.
I think the movie-going audience is now ready for a Thelma and Louise reboot.
Watching kittens play has been medically proven to lower your blood pressure.*
Drinking wine has also been proven to do the same as #18.*
Not watching the news has also... etc... etc.... refer to #18.*
Last films watched: The Hurt Locker, Clueless, Shame.
A phrase that I wish would gain in popularity - “Pish posh”.
The Oxford comma - yea or nay?
The aughts’ cultural zeitgeist - a vacuous black hole or appropriately zeitgeistian?
Contemplating undertaking Project 365. But that’s, like, a lot of photos so contemplating a (much) truncated version instead: Project 30.
Random Facebook conversation:

J: So, is it love or hate when an animal rubs its butt across your pillows?
S: Depends if they leave a skidmark or not.
J: No skidmark.
S: Then love.
J: Smelly love.
S: Love stinks.
J: Apparently.

The elements that make up our bodies are the same elements that make up the universe; ergo, we are of the universe.

Countdown: 5 months, 8 days, 3 hours, 27 minutes until Scotland (as of 7/12/12 @ 2:49pm)

Uh....

Whatever happened to David Chappelle?

*These statements have not been medically proven to be true.

Ode to pollen, ragweed, mold spores, and getting old…

2012-03-20T20:58:00.001-04:00

Creeping up on my 44^th year of life and the inevitable breakdown of the physical form becomes… well, inevitable.

I feel it in the tightness of the hips and lower back getting out of bed in the morning. It’s in the creaking and cracking of knee joints whilst squatting to lift up an object. It’s in my failing eye sight that has been, up until a year ago, perfect vision 20/20. It’s in the unavoidable root canal that I’ve been avoiding for the past eight months. The most recent ailment that has befallen me is seasonal allergies, in addition to a general assault on my previously ironclad immune system.

For someone who has always been healthy, strong, hardly ever sick and never been to the hospital ever (except for that one time I had to have my stomach pumped), it’s sobering to realize that the body is on the slippery slope of decline. Exponentially so. To commemorate this officious step away from youthful immortality towards unalterable death, an attempted (silly) foray into composing haiku… (part of the PBS experiment.)

Weepy, wat'ry eyes

Mucous membrane, snot snot snot

Phlegm, my best friend is

O, yonder hip-bone
Lest you jest at my pai-ain

T’aint funny one bit

Curs-ed are the years
Cantankerous maladies

I declare, Begone!

Ipso facto death

‘fore he thee pluck, crooks finger

It, I ignoreth

I’m obsessed with the notion that we are (literally) dying just a little bit every day. I may be having a mid-life crisis. More on that later if/when I figure it out.

Project Brain Stimulation

2012-03-07T09:16:00.017-05:00

Who sez you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

Brad Pitt is a big proponent on keeping the brain healthy and fit so that we’re both mentally agile as we drift into our twilight years. No vacant drooling into our soups for this couple.

Do you know that if you don’t periodically teach your brain new tricks, it’s in danger of becoming flabby from disuse? Our brains are thinking organs that learn and grow by interacting with the world through perception and action. Mental stimulation improves brain function and actually protects it from cognitive decline. Or so I've read.

Do you also know that alcohol in moderation can actually be good for the brain, however too much alcohol can kill brain cells and your ability to think and reason effectively? But that’s another post for another day.

Accordingly, one of my New Year’s resolutions is to engage the brain in creative and fun new activities (Project Brain Stimulation, or PBS) to keep it in P90X tiptop shape. I'm not implying one needs to tax one's brain by reading Michio Kaku's "Parallel Worlds" and mastering the notion of string theory, black holes and parallel universes, which is fascinating, by the way. Can you imagine eleven different versions of yourself living eleven different lives? I can't.

I'm talking about learning something new on a small scale. It can be as simple as learning how to dance the rhumba, or craft haikus, or fashion swan origami, or a new language (okay, learning a new language may be a little harder). Or knitting. Which is what I chose for my first PBS endeavor.

Not sure how or why I was compelled to learn how to knit. Before last month, I've never had an inkling of needing nor wanting to knit. (Knitting was for grandmas.) It may have been when I stumbled across ravelry.com while researching blogs for this blog. Ravelry is this giant on-line knitting community. Knitters share their projects, patterns, chat/discuss/gossip about knitting on message boards. It's like a cult with yarn instead of the wacko philosophizing and/or partner swapping.

Poking about, I came across these drool-worthy sweaters made by a knitter in Germany. I may have thought something like, "Dang, that's a fine looking sweater", downloaded the pattern, got confused with all the strange instructions (it was akin to trying to make heads and tails of Egyptian hieroglyphs), drooled over more sweaters, got more inspired, googled knitting classes in Rhode Island, found one taking place at Blithewold Mansion in Bristol, and there I went.

For whatever reason, the instructor didn't feel the need to teach us how to cast on (committing the first row of stitches on which to grow subsequent stitches), the very FIRST thing, in my humble non-knitter opinion, one would need to know to even BEGIN knitting. In spite of that one weird exclusion, it was a productive 2 hours - I learnt how to make the knit and purl stitch.

For those who've never knitted before, the actual physical act of knitting is like learning how to walk for the first time. The synapse firings were rebelling HARD, as my fat clumsy fingers fumbled with these too-long knitting needles, threatening to poke an eyeball out with every stitch, yarn tangling around my ankles. I MAY have stabbed the woman next to me with the non-pointy end but she was too polite to bitch me out. (Sorry, knitting fellow whose name I do not recall.)

Once my over-ambitious plan of knitting a cool sweater as my first project crashed and burned, I set my sights on a more humble project: the all-purpose winter scarf. I went home, youtubed how to cast on, three months later… et voilà!

Don't laugh!

I may now cross # 7 off my bucket list.

Wanderlust + Winter Doldrums = Travel Wish List

2012-02-16T16:13:00.000-05:00

I like making lists. When I see a list, I see items that can be checked off as complete and ergo, a feeling of accomplishment. It gives an illusory sense of order that I can truly appreciate.

Without further ado: go to TRAVEL WISH LIST now.

Wanderlust at Defcon 5

Pinterest. Do you know it? I'm a tad obsessed.

I'm keeping a running visual Travel Wish List over on Pinterest as well.

Compiling the following list made me a little sad.

Places I'd Love To Revisit But Probably Won't Because The Wish List Is Ever So Long Already:
- Australia
- New Zealand
- France
- Italy
- Cuba
- Cambodia
- Thailand
- India

What's on your Top 5 Travel Wish List?

A Case of the Mondays on a Tuesday Night

2012-01-31T21:03:00.007-05:00

This is a rant about how much I hate work more than the heat of a thousand burning suns. And by work, I mean that obligatory thing most all of us do to avoid being homeless. I'm not referring to WORK that most of us dream of doing, WORK that is born from great inspiration, WORK that makes your insides hum, WORK that brings out the best in you, WORK that makes you excited about getting up in the morning. Yeah, that WORK I will most gladly and happily do.

I hate work more than:

bamboo shoved under my fingernails
waterboarding
bathing in a river of sh*t
listening to Michael Buble on repeat
propping up of eyelids, Clockwork Orange styles, for forced viewing of Keeping up with the Sh*tKardashians, Jersey Sh*tShore, Sh*tty Housewives of Sh*tWhatevsCounty, Dancing with the Sh*ts, et al

Rant over. Thanks for listening.

EDIT: ps. This post is 75% hyperbole and 25% truth. Some folks were confused.

My Husband is Brad Pitt

2011-12-07T09:47:00.003-05:00

No, not really, but the husband refuses to let me use his real name or post his photo on the blog ~~because he's an anti-social freak~~. To this day, I do not have a proper photo with the husband - just obscene hand gestures and silly faces, like so:

Ah, the finger. How original!

(The above facsimile has not been approved by the husband so let's keep this between ourselves, shall we?)

Since I'm banned from using his real name ~~(Jeff)~~, and because "the husband" is so impersonal and cold, from this point forth, I shall refer to the husband as Brad Pitt.

Speaking of Mr. Pitt (the real one, not the husband), I was inspired to make a visual retrospective of my favorite Brad Pitt movie roles.

Sweet baby jesus

Thelma & Louise

Stoner Floyd

True Romance

Worst. Irish. Accent. Ever.

Snatch

Psycho Pitt

Twelve Monkeys

Finding-my-wife's-severed-head-in-a-box Pitt

Seven

Licking of computer screen permitted.

Fight Club

You're very welcome.

How I Spent Black Friday

2011-11-28T09:40:00.000-05:00

It wasn't at the friggin' mall, that's for certain. Only lunatics leave the house on Black Friday. Don't these people know they can get that same shit on-line? What they sacrifice in tactile viscerality (I just made up that word), they save in gas money, sales tax, elbows to the face, and sanity points by shopping on-line. But you know this already - I'm preaching to the choir, am I right?

Anyhoo, look at these gems I found on Etsy. My shopping list is complete! Finished a month early!

Self high-five!!

Handmade Art Doll
Guaranteed to scar the child in your life with recurring nightmares. (If that's what you're aiming for.)

Maris the Mermaid Cloth Art Doll
Apparently, there's this burgeoning underground movement of all things mermaid as evidenced here. Fine, whatever. You like mermaid crafts, and I don't. To each her own. The thing that has me scratching my head, though, is how anyone in good conscience can charge $20 for Maris here when it looks like the seller's six-year old niece fashioned her from leftover Bratz dolls and a burlap sack.

WTF?
It's described as a folk art doll and crow. I don't see the crow, do you? What I do see is either a dried out cat turd curled over her left shoulder or her creepy Uncle Stanley's bony finger creeping around where it doesn't belong. By the look on her face, my guess is bony finger, not crow. Or maybe she's upset because she's wearing a used coffee filter.

Zombie Family Paper Dolls
Um, how do you play with these?

Bathing Water Fairy
*Warning* NSFW

And last, but not least...

Dolls for the Wednesday Addams in your life.
(I secretly kind of dig these.)

Currently Viewing - "Captain America: The First Avenger"

2011-11-27T13:08:00.000-05:00

My expectations were preeetty low when I heard that they were making a Captain America movie, because who is a more boring super hero than Captain America? Superman, that's who. With Captain being a close second. I expected this to crash harder than the morning after an all-night blow binge. Not that I would know what that's like. (Because, really, I don't.) Instead, I was pleasantly surprised.

It's earnest and old-fashioned, told completely without irony or tongue-in-cheekiness, and that's part of its charm. Of course, the plot is preposterous but the film takes care to build the Steve Rogers' character and motivations. And the CGI used to make Chris Evans (who is 6 feet in real life) into a 5-foot, 6-inch, 90 pound weakling is top-notch seamless.

(Fast forward to after the credits roll for a sneek peek at The Avengers movie.)

Netflix: Captain America: The First Avenger

Title: Captain America: The First Avenger, 2011

Director: Joe Johnston

Starring: Chris Evans, Hayley Atwell, Tommy Le Jones, Hugo Weaving

Currently Viewing - "The Tree of Life"

2011-11-21T14:15:00.000-05:00

A meandering musing on the origins and meaning of life, and man's standing/purpose in the vastness of the universe. I've enjoyed all of Terrence Malick's films but I'm thinking this one is only for Malick-o-philes. Beautiful cinematography, as always - it's like an impressionistic painting unfolding in live action. Watching a Malick movie is a little like being in a dream. Ambitious, flawed, powerful, evocative, frustrating - The Tree of Life is all this and more, but if you're open to the film's undulating rhythm and the ideas it's trying to tackle, you may find yourself sucked in.

Netflix:The_Tree_of_Life

Title: The Tree of Life, 2011
Director: Terrence Malick
Starring: Brad Pitt, Jessica Chastain, Hunter McCracken, Sean Penn

Of Poop and Circumstance

2011-11-16T11:06:00.001-05:00

In the spirit of full disclosure, I must admit to my obsession with poop. Specifically, the disbursement or dissemination and the acceptable receptacle of said poop.

In the building where I work, the route to access the ladies room (this is a misnomer because there's nothing ladylike about what occurs in the women's water closet) takes you down the hallway to a mini-kitchen (complete with refrigerator, sink, and microwave). As you walk through the mini-kitchen, the bathroom door is a mere TWO FEET from the microwave. (I know, GROSS, right?) So, if someone had just taken a particularly noxious #2, AND at the same time, an unsuspecting employee were to be microwaving her lunch, imagine if you will the awkward moment when the dumper opens the bathroom door to the poor recipient who had just taken her Lean Cuisine out of the microwave. Now, imagine if you are the dumper – how would you handle this situation? Do you avoid eye contact as you slink away? Do you own up to that smell and do the “oh well” shrug? What is the appropriate response in this situation? Is there one?

One of my life's unbreakable rule is: NEVER EVER use a public bathroom to take a dump. (There are exceptions to this rule which I will explain below.)

Two reasons why:

1. Public toilets are disgusting. If I could, I would Lysol down the seat and surrounding area, lay down 5 layers of those disposable paper seats, and then, only then would I deem it safe to sit. As it is, I don't carry Lysol with me nor are the paper seats always available, so I squat when I pee. I could squat all day. I have very strong quad muscles. But as everyone knows, one cannot squat and dump. It's physiologically impossible. One time, when I was in a stall peeing, someone entered the adjacent toilet, and I look underneath the divider with horror as this person drops trou and sits right down on the seat without any prepping like it ain't no thang. Gah, that's disgusting. I knew a girl once who caught crabs by sitting right on a naked public toilet seat and that is why I don't sit on public toilets.

2. Public toilets are disgusting. See Reason #1. 'Nuff said.

Exceptions to this rule (aka, Extenuating Circumstances):

2007, Rome, Italy. I'm roaming around Campo de Fiori, which is a delightful open air market chock full of vendors of fresh fruit, vegetables, spices, wine, cheeses, meats, flowers, pastry – so intoxicating, the air heavy and fragrant with strawberries, peaches, lavender, blue cheese. So, I'm walking around, having a hard time deciding what to purchase – I want everything – walking back and forth, overwhelmed by all the choices, vendors evil-eyeing me, thinking “Buy something already, jeez” - in Italian, of course. From this veritable cornucopia, I finally decide on... a bag of giant capers. Brined and heavily salted. Buds as large as grape tomatoes.

I should have had an artichoke...

...or a tomato. Anything but the capers.

I take my baggie of salty capers, find a vacant spot along a stone wall and proceed to chow down while I people watch.

Cut to: thirty minutes later and my baggie is empty. I'm smacking my puckered lips, like it's the best thing I've had all day.

Cut to: ten minutes later on my way to explore some cathedral close by.

And then the rumbling begins.

Just a twinge at first, in the upper intestine. I ignore it. Twenty more steps. I stop in my tracks. The twinge has turned into a gurgling bubbling of acidic morass that's clearing a path through my intestines like a flash flood through the Grand Canyon. I panic. I pull out my street map, calculate the distance to my hotel. I trace my finger across the map... There's no way. I can't make it back in time, this bowel movement is not willing to wait.

I'm sorry for befouling your water closet.

I double over in pain, rendered immobile. I spot a small trattoria on the corner. I shuffle/creep over, do a quick recon of the interior through the window – 3, maybe 4 customers – certainly not enough so I can sneak in undetected. But I have no choice. Casually, I walk in, spot the “bagno” sign, which is right after the bar, behind which 2 Italian dudes are chatting it up. As I approach, they both turn to look at me suspiciously. I bare my teeth in what I hope is a semblance of a smile, croak out “Ciao!” and sneak into the darkened bathroom. There's no time – I yank my pants down and collapse onto the UNPREPPED toilet seat and unclench.

What happened next was not pretty; I will spare you the craptastic details, but I did manage to wipe down the area afterwards, because I'm considerate like that. 20 pounds lighter, I floated all the way back to my hotel room.

Word of the Moment

2011-11-16T10:47:00.001-05:00

onomatopoeia - the formation of a word, as cuckoo, meow, honk, or boom, by imitation of a sound made by or associated with its referent.

This word makes me cross-eyed - it should be etymologically illegal to have four vowels in a row, but I enjoy the definition of the word.

Would You Rather…?

2011-11-01T14:59:00.000-04:00

Last night, while slurping on corn chowder, the husband turns to me and says,

Husband: Would you rather...

We've played this game before. I'm not a fan of it because it forces disturbing images into my head that can only be scrubbed away with bleach and phosphoric acid.

Husband (cont.): ...have sex with Harvey Keitel or Danny Devito?

I look up from my Entertainment Weekly, slightly annoyed because I’m in the middle of reading about Kim Kardashian's ginormous ass and how it almost swallowed her sister Khloe.

Me (sighing): I don't want to play.

Husband: Come on. Indulge me.

Me: Neither.

Husband: You have to pick one. Them's the rules.

Me: Brad Pitt.

Husband: Not an option. Keitel or Devito?

Me: No. They're both gross.

Husband: Do you love me?

Me: Yes.

Husband: If you love me, you'll play. If you don't play, that means you don't love me.

Blatant love manipulation. It’s what he does best.

Harvey Keitel or Danny Devito? Nothing personal against either of them, I'm sure they're both adequately nice people, just aesthetically, they don't tingle the nether regions. (But it's okay if they tingle yours.) It comes down to: Danny Devito is gnome-ish. Harvey Keitel is less gnome-ish.

Me: Fine. Harvey Keitel.

Would you tap Danny?

Pick me!

Husband: Ew, gross. Okay. Would you rather...

And so the games goes, the choices getting progressively more absurd. Howard Stern or Hugh Hefner? Corey Haim or Corey Feldman? Gallagher or Carrot Top?

Occasionally, he veers into sapphic territory.

Husband: Would you rather have sex with Cloris Leachman or Betty White?

Come on, that's not even a hard choice. Betty White, hands down!

Word of the Moment

2011-10-29T14:13:00.000-04:00

nom de plume - literally, a pen name

This is a fun word to say. Especially when said in a Pepe le Pew French accent -- nohm duh ploooom. Now you try it. Fun, right?

Virgin Post

2011-10-19T19:21:00.000-04:00

Blogger cherry popped. No tears. No pain. No spotting on sheets. And even gentle spooning afterwards. Excellent.

Wackadoo Stew will primarily be a repository for creative writing exercises shrouded in pop culture musings, books and movies recommendations, (mein) photographs, ~~attempts at pithy introspective discourses (with myself)~~ and miscellaneous narcissistic commentary on my life. In short, pretty much anything that grabs my fancy.

Just a sidenote on the narcissistic element of personal blogging -- I have to admit, this process does not come naturally to me. I'm the type of person that would rather blend into the wallpaper than call attention to myself, which is completely incongruous with why (aspiring) writers are compelled to write. The notion of posting on the internet is terrifying, to bare one's ego to the anonymous e-public to be judged, criticized, vilified, drawn and quartered. (Yes, in my head, it is still the Middle Ages). But an aspiring writer does not (should not) write in a vacuum. An aspiring writer writes to have their words be read, or else, what's the point?

So, this blog is my personal project to vomit words onto the interwebz and see what sticks. Cue the daunting task of filling the empty spaces.

What's that Wordsworth quote? "Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." Breathings of your heart...? Sounds like a bad Harlequin novel. Yeah, not quite. If only it was as easy as breathing one's heart onto the page. For me, it feels more like this quote by Kurt Vonnegut: "When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth." Case in point - it took me three days to write/revise/edit/polish this measly post (and I'm still not satisfied).

So, dear reader, if you have stumbled upon this blog by accident, thanks in advance for taking the time to peruse and I hope you come back again. I am making it my goal to amuse you.